


spinning record

by hamletmustdie



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of past family abuse, Murdoc's usual baggage, canon typical mentions of drugs/alcohol/etc, late night dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 19:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18350543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletmustdie/pseuds/hamletmustdie
Summary: “You’re so grouchy, you know that?” 2D faced him, arms outstretched. “Come on. Dance with me,”“What? No. Absolutely not.”





	spinning record

Murdoc couldn’t sleep. The camper felt stifling and cramped. The ceiling seemed to be pitching downwards toward him. He kicked out of the bed sheets tangled in his legs and swung them over the bedside. A cigarette in the ashtray on the night stand glowed a dying orange. Murdoc stood up. The remnants of a drinking binge had him feeling groggy, exhausted, irritated.

He stumbled out of the camper and into the flat.

The flat was quiet and dark. Russ had taken Noodle out earlier that evening to visit some friends of his. It seemed they’d stayed the night at some mate’s place. 2D had gone out sometime around seven.

He found the kitchen and opened the fridge door. There were a few things with Russ' name and a warning not to touch them, a soda and half finished bowl of cereal Noodle had left unaware it’d be soggy by the time she returned to it. She’d claimed, that morning, she would finish it later. Everyone had agreed to let her learn that lesson on her own.  
Boxed orange juice, ancient leftovers, a white rice box from the other night. Murdoc shut the fridge.

  
He was walking down the hallway when he passed the living room door. A yellow light made him slow, stop. A single, tall lamp lit up the room. 2D crouched before the stereo system.

“When’d you get home?” Murdoc mumbled, brows furrowed, disinterested.

“Hm?” 2D glanced at him, smiled. “Oh, hey, you’re still up. Thought I was home alone.” He turned back to what he was doing. “‘Bout fifteen minutes ago. Russ and Noodle aren’t home yet?” Murdoc mumbled a no-like sound. “Welp, it’s just you and me, then,”

Murdoc grumbled, this time, strode forward. He hadn’t changed out of the day’s outfit - black sweater and torn black jeans. 2D hadn’t changed either - a red and white stripped sweater and old khaki colored pants that were a size too large for him. Murdoc stepped over his tennis shoes, strewn out in a heap near the couch.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Settin’ this up,” 2D twisted a knob, adjusted a setting, then clicked his tongue and stood up. He took a record from where it was in it’s sleeve on the couch, pulled it gingerly out, tossed the sleeve aside. He opened the record and carefully set the disc in. Murdoc tried to peer over him to read the record; when he couldn’t, he went to the couch.

“What’s this rubbish?” Murdoc lifted up the record sleeve.

“Found it at a thrift shop, downtown. Nice find, don’t you think?” 2D was smiling serenely, looking sleepy. Murdoc squinted at the title. 20 UK Greatest Hits - 1965.

“Whatever,” he mumbled and set it aside. The record scratched then found itself. Whatever was playing - Murdoc had lost interest - began, tired and gentle. Someone mumbled into a crackling microphone. 2D was humming. “Are you goin’ to bed soon?” asked Murdoc.

2D shook his head, mumbled no.

“It’s three AM,”

“Mm, yeah, it is,”

Perhaps he couldn’t sleep, either.

“Do you like this song?”

“I don’t know who the hell this is,” Murdoc grumbled.

“You’re so grouchy, you know that?” 2D faced him, arms outstretched. “Come on. Dance with me,”

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He frowned, although he still came forward. Murdoc wasn’t exactly awake enough to put up much of a fight. 2D found his reluctant hands and led him forward. If he wouldn’t put up a fight, Murdoc could at least be stubborn - but if 2D was put off by the way Murdoc let himself stumble into his chest, his limp movements and uninterest as the other made him sway, he showed no sign of it. In fact, he seemed pretty entertained by it.  
2D was lanky and easy to knock over, but he was strong enough to lead Murdoc by the hand. Their swaying wasn’t entirely in time with the music, but then neither was 2D’s humming. Murdoc wasn’t even sure he was humming the same song.

The movements made him tired. Murdoc groaned inwardly, pulled 2D away enough to take his hands himself. “You’re doin’ it all wrong,”  
He corrected 2D’s clumsy footing and took him by the waist. If he squeezed, he might have all of 2D’s hipbone in his fist. Instead, he held 2D’s right hand gingerly in his own. Perhaps unknowingly, he intertwined their fingers. 2D squeezed his hand once. Although he was taller than him, 2D followed Murdoc’s step as best he could. It was slow and awkward and just as terrible as it’d been earlier, but Murdoc fancied himself a better dancer than the other.

“What time d’you think the other’s’ll be home?” 2D asked softly after a time.

“Dunno.”

“Bet Russ took Noodle out with his friends. They’re all over her. One of them has a kid of his own. Apparently they play together.”

“Huh.” He felt a tinge of jealousy, as he always did when Noodle went out and had a good time with anybody that wasn’t him. But then, he was half drunk, lazing about his camper all day. Where could he have taken her without being stopped and arrested for child endangerment?

“That’s good,” 2D mumbled. “I like bein’ able to do my own thing,”

“Hm.” Murdoc didn’t have his “own thing”, not usually. Although he’d put the band together, much of his time was spent in a panicked state to do something that wasn’t lie around and do nothing. 2D was usually holed up in his own room, if he wasn't out or in a rare jolly mood.

“What have you been up to all night?”

“Writin’ music,” That wasn’t true, but 2D didn’t seem to question it.

“Mm. Show me it when it’s done,” He pitched a bit forward until his forehead thumped Murdoc’s chest. Murdoc didn’t tense but rolled his eyes and left 2D there. Plenty of drunk evenings in pubs together were spent like this, carrying 2D home when’d drunk far too much.  
The music droned on. Murdoc had to let go of his hand so that he might hold 2D’s back to keep him upright. He’d thought he was falling asleep until two spidery, pale arms wrapped around Murdoc’s middle, met each other at his own back. Still, he was too tired, too bored to really protest. And he didn’t mind so much.  
2D kept swaying with him. He mumbled something that Murdoc was a fine dance partner. That he was sorry he, himself, was a lousy one.  
Murdoc found himself thinking of a time before things got really bad. Hazy warm memories in which things didn’t seem to have been so bad. Before his father smelled perpetually of liquor and before his brother got to be angry all the time - and then him, too. When his family held some semblance of the word. Family. A Christmas Eve spent with perhaps his father having drunk too much but at the time, it didn’t mean anything frightening. His father tugging some figure into a tiny living room. High heels struggling not to crush his toes. Don’t you like this song? Murdoc’s father liked to pretend he was romantic when he was drunk. Usually it just came out perverted. But then it wasn’t so terrible - although Hannibal had scowled and made a sign as if to vomit. Murdoc had watched from the stairwell. The memory was confused and probably fabricated. How old had he been when his mother had left? He didn’t recall, couldn’t see her face, or smell her perfume. Or perhaps he did watch his parents dance in the living room. What was the point anymore in debating these things?  
That evening, he was supposed to be in bed - Santa was coming, after all - and although Hannibal lost interest in the music and returned to bed, Murdoc remained. Nothing really rooted him to the spot, neither of his parents were exceptional dancers. The music wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. In fact, it was lulling him to sleep.

Murdoc rested his chin against the top of 2D’s head, thought of the cold, hard wood of the stairwell railing against his cheek. Had it been Frank Sinatra playing that night? If he closed his eyes, he saw the twinkle of tinsel on the plastic tree, the glitter of a red, cracked ornament. Where had that old thing gone? Further prodding of memory reminded Murdoc it had shattered with all the other ornaments when his father had shoved Hannibal into the tree on a particularly bad evening one late December. The pop of the bulbs had made Murdoc jolt. The string lights had torn from their outlet, making a brief, blue spark. The living room lamp had been on that night, but the room had felt oddly dark once that tree had gone out. _I don’t wanna see you for the rest of the night,_ words slurred together, his father’s bony finger, jutting out towards Hannibal, Murdoc tense at the stairwell bottom, hand on the railing, _or I’ll beat the living shit out of you._

Naturally, his mother had been gone by that point.  
  
Hannibal had taken him out that night with him, essentially temporarily kicked out for the evening. Despite the cold, they’d sat at a playground. Perhaps they’d talked a bit. Murdoc didn’t remember much but his older brother’s ugly sniffling. When Hannibal had come across his own buddies he’d forgotten about Murdoc and left him at the bottom of a plastic slide. It had been terribly cold that night. He’d walked home eventually. His father had been angry at the sight of his feet - he’d forgotten his shoes in his brother’s haste to get him out of the house. He’d been punished for tracking dirt in.

“You’re tense,”  
2D’s voice was soft. Head still against him. Murdoc opened his eyes, squinted at nothing in particular.

“Tryin’ not to let you step on my toes,”

“Come on,” 2D sighed, “I’m not that bad.” But he uncurled himself from Murdoc’s grasp to look at him. Murdoc was struck by how cold the air felt where 2D had been. “What’s on your mind? You never answered why you couldn’t sleep,”

“Not tired.”

“No? Me neither,”

“You sound tired.”

“Do I?” His eyes crinkled as he briefly smiled. “Maybe I lied. I sorta am.”

The song was drawing to a close, melting into the next track. IT skipped again before it found itself once more. 2D said, for the second time, “Pretty nice find, I think,” he glanced at the the record player over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Murdoc was still watching him, although 2D was zoning out, staring at the spinning disc. His pale neck, slender and curved, hid a gentle pulse. His hands still gripped Murdoc’s arms. Stupid sentimental shit like this, 2D did it all the tie. Murdoc found it irritating and troublesome. He neither knew what it meant or if 2D meant whatever it did mean. Perhaps he was high. He was always sentimental and affectionate when he was high.  
And if he isn’t?

Well, then, perhaps he’s just stupid.

2D turned to face him again. When he saw Murdoc was already watching him, he grinned again. “Are you going to put me to bed?”

Murdoc blinked, nearly startled a bit out of his own reverie. He didn’t answer, instead sliding his own arms from 2D’s and grabbing his wrist.

2D’s bedroom was at the end of the hall, nearest to his own. When Murdoc pushed the door open, he found the curtains and blinds pulled shut and the television on mute. Cigarette papers and lighters and empty glass cups on the nightstand. Orange pill bottles half full.

“Go to bed,” Murdoc demanded, coming to the conclusion that 2D was, in fact, high. He’d likely done whatever he’d done some time earlier before he’d taken a late night stroll. Dug around in some after hour stores until he found what he did, brought back in child like wonder.  
This happened from time to time. Sometimes, they spent too much time drinking and 2D got ideas into his head about the girls (and sometimes boys) at the bar. Murdoc would always drag him home, unless he was feeling particularly irritated by 2D’s interest in anyone who spared him a second, third glance- then he’d let 2D fuck around with whoever he so pleased. Usually, though, he didn’t have that sort of patience.  
2D leaned on Murdoc’s arm now, then stumbled a step forward, then turned a final time as if he’d finally realized where Murdoc had brought him.

“How chivalrous of you,”

“Shut the fuck up,”

“Will you tuck me in now, too?”

“No,” Murdoc turned from the door now. 2D caught his wrist. Murdoc glared at him when he turned.

“You danced with me,”

“So?”

“Let’s sleep together,”

Murdoc’s mouth fell open. Before he could sputter some response, 2D quickly shook his head. “No, no, no, not like that-”

“It better not be-”

“No,” 2D sighed, “It was- I just- I mean it wouldn’t be weir-”

“No,” Murdoc tried to wriggle his wrist free but 2D’s grasp only tightened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you off-”

“Go to bed, dents,”  
2D sighed, frowning. He looked impatient, worried.

“Well then- fine - let me… just-” 2D glanced behind him once, bounced up and down as if he were agitated or nervous. Murdoc was about to snap at him when 2D leaned forward, quickly closed the space between them.

The kiss was chaste and quick. Murdoc’s lips were chapped and so were 2D’s. He thought of the first girl he ever took out on the date, the awkward, hardly confident kiss he’d given her before he’d quickly left her at her doorstep as he parents opened the front door.  
2D smiled briefly at him and mumbled a good night, muds. He shut the door (gently) in his face. Murdoc stood, stunned and silent. The truth was he was little irritated he’d, a) not caught the hint in time, and b) not made the first move. What an opportunity lost.

Behind the wooden door, he heard the television's sound return, the creak of 2D’s bed as he fell in. Murdoc’s hand went out and hovered over the doorknob. He could imagine how the mattress might dip as he climbed in behind 2D. Their legs intertwined. 2D probably had a habit of hogging all the blankets. It wasn’t as if Russ would care and Noodle wasn’t old enough to wonder.

Murdoc took his hand away, turned from the door and went slowly to the garage. 2D’s television faded out behind him.  
When he opened the garage door into darkness, to the camper, pushed open the flimsy door, and threw on a lamp. He climbed into bed and tugged the sheets up high. There was a half empty bottle of scotch on the nightstand. He thought of his father. He thought of 2D.  
Some stupid, old British song spun circles in his head. Impulse made him touch his lips. Or perhaps he was just feeling sentimental.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can rip Murdoc from my cold dead hands


End file.
